


Docking Bay D24

by hoarous



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-22 00:28:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6063841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoarous/pseuds/hoarous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short fics and doodle comics set in the Mass Effect universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 500cc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For prompt:
> 
>  _I read a fic recently where Turian soldiers on Menae are talking about former conquests (its called curiosity by quondam on ff, i recommend it!) and theres a part where Garrus is describing what humans and the human body is capable of, and Id like to see more fics going in that direction! Just aliens being amazed and maybe a bit scared by shit, "what do you /mean/ there body will eat itself for sustenance?!" "She just lost like half her blood why is she walking" "UM excuse me sir youre missing like all of your teeth can you please stop trying to punch this man" etc_
> 
> mostly gen, humor. Urdnot Grunt, Teenage Refugee and Turian C-Sec Officer (ambient dialogue characters), asari OC, male human OC. Warning: mild gore.

Usually, desk duty at the refugee docks is fairly quiet. Harrowing, sure--there's nothing for fostering a true, gizzard-deep understanding of the dire straits the galaxy is in quite like staring its destitute collateral damage in the eye day after day, trying to offer whatever small reassurance a body in a familiar uniform can provide in the face of incomprehensible cosmic evil.

Today, Sergeant Ictor Auriolus almost misses the usual banal day-to-day quiet horror.

“Chelsea,” he says, addressing the young human refugee he's lately taken under his wing in a figurative way, and more immediately under his arm in a literal way, “Please, you're bleeding from your head, I'm worried you’ll do yourself permanent damage like this--”

“It’s just a light scrape,” she says, “head wounds always look gross, now _let me go_!”

“She’s right, actually,” says the asari medic he'd paged over the moment he first waded into this situation. Gailani, says her name tag. “Human scalps bleed like crazy when they're nicked, but it usually looks uglier than it really is.”

“She can't possibly be ok,” says Ictor. “If a turian was bleeding like that--”

“Turians have layered chitinous plating over most of your heads,” she says. “You'd have to literally crack your skull open to be bleeding like that.” Indeed, Chelsea’s yellow hair is streaked with a jarring sticky red by now. “Humans are softer, but able to absorb a lot more damage. You sometimes don't even start seeing symptoms of hypovolemia until they've lost over 15% of total blood volume. For a female this size, that's about, eh, 500cc, maybe? Considerably more than this, anyway.”

Ictor clicks his mandibles in horror. “Spirits. That's--”

“Still, never pays to be careless, especially with head wounds,” continues Gailani blithely. “There's all sorts of things that can go wrong where you can't see. So kindly hold still, kiddo, so I can look you over?”

“But I--”

“Yes, it’s still a head wound,” Ictor says, recovering swiftly. “You're injured and likely not in full possession of your faculties, especially considering I just saw you _bum-rush a krogan_!”

Chelsea huffs, but subsides, and he releases her to the tender mercies of the medic, who starts a medical scan on her omnitool. 

The krogan in question, an unusually large specimen in silvery-white armor, is sitting compliantly on a bench across from them.

“Actually, she was aiming for the other human,” says the krogan. The other human--a large male, pale skin with brown and white hair, probably of middle age judging by the two-toned hair and subtly textured skin--is laid out groaning on the floor, having been checked over by the medic already. “I just got in the way.”

“And _why_ did you do that?” asks Ictor. At the base of his skull, he feels a dull headache threatening to take hold.

The krogan shrugs.

“Wasn't on purpose. Figured he did something to deserve it, the way she was shrieking at him.”

Ictor looks at Chelsea, who has the grace to look embarrassed.

“He said… some things. About my mom,” she says, not meeting his eyes. “He was from the same colony as me. He moved away when I was little, I think he lives on the Citadel now. He saw me and he said, hey, aren't you Melissa Sweeney’s kid, and I said, yeah, but it's Melissa Hardt now, and then he… called her some names, and said a bunch of gross things.”

The other human puts in, “Fucking bitch whore--”

“Shut up,” says Ictor. He feels a wash of disgust at the man. “You, krogan. How did you get involved?”

“Eh, I was passing by, on my way to meet a friend,” says the krogan. “The male and the girl are talking, and it looks unfriendly and they don't smell like they're related or anything, so I thought I'd stick around and see if I could figure out what was up. Then he grabs her around the shoulders and she just--wham! right in the face. Heh heh. It was impressive, she's got fire for such a tiny thing.”

Chelsea gives the krogan a shy grin at that. Spirits grant me forbearance, thinks Ictor. 

“Probably where the head wound came from,” the krogan adds to Gailani, who is carefully applying medi-gel to Chelsea’s scalp, having cleaned the worst of the blood from her hair. “Human faces are full of little crunchy bits.”

“Of course,” says Gailani, drily. 

“Anyway, so, that sends the guy staggering, but then he recovers and gets even madder and they shove at each other a bit and he pushes her into me.”

“Didn't you say he had a broken nose?” Ictor asks the medic.

“Yep. Pretty nasty,” she says.

“Was that from after...?”

“Can't think of when else it would have been,” says the krogan. “She got him good with that headbutt. Heh heh heh.”

He looks down at the human male, who is making what is, from context, obviously a rude gesture with his many-fingered hand.

“I suppose I shouldn't bother to ask why you didn't think to alert C-Sec by that point,” Ictor says to the krogan.

“Nah, she was doing pretty well for herself, actually.”

“That’s not what I--” Ictor sighs. “Oh, never mind. So, he pushed her into you.”

“Right. So she starts clawing blindly at me and they're both still yelling at each other and I figure, ok, this is getting kind of stupid, so I put him down gently--”

“This is _gently?_ ” snaps the human man.

“If it wasn't, you wouldn't be conscious to know it,” says the krogan. “But instead you get to lie there and whine, because I didn't do any major damage.”

“Astonishingly, you didn't,” says Gailani. “The worst of it was the broken nose, which we’ve just established he most likely already had before you touched him. Other than that, he’ll be sore for weeks, but he’ll be fine.”

Spirits, thinks Ictor, if he were turian he'd probably be down for the count. Apparently humans are squishy because they don't _need_ natural defenses. 

“Yeah, see?” says the krogan. “Anyway, that's about when you showed up,” he adds to Ictor.

Ictor sighs.

“Alright, well,” he says, “I'm going to have to take you down to the precinct to get statements, and--”

“What, this didn't count?” says the krogan.

Gailani says, “Hang on. Officer, that's a juvenile.”

“I know she's a juvenile,” says Ictor.

Gailani rolls her eyes. “I didn't mean her. The krogan, too.”

Ictor looks at the krogan, half wondering if he might have gotten smaller suddenly while he wasn't looking, and then back at Gailani, to check if she's just giving him a hard time.

She must see the disbelief on his face because she sighs and says, “The fragmented head plate, the pale coloration, the low hump. He's post-pubescent but still sub-adult, at least three molts out from full adulthood. Honestly, doesn't C-Sec do interspecies sensitivity training?”

And there's the headache.

Chelsea is giving the krogan an entirely alarming speculative look too, sweet Spirits have mercy. 

“Alright, krogan-- kid-- what's your name?”

“Urdnot Grunt,” says the krogan kid.

“Urdnot Grunt. Right. Am I going to have to file the unaccompanied-minor-in-incident forms twice, or do you have a, uh, responsible adult somewhere...” the krogan is giving him a clearly bewildered look. “...that is to say, a parent or any other adult who's legally responsible for your wellbeing?”

Urdnot Grunt scratches at his chin, still looking confused.

“Urdnot Wrex is my clan leader,” he offers.

“Really don't think we can get ahold of the king of all krogan from here,” says Gailani.

“Do you have someone on the Citadel?” asks Ictor.

“Shepard’s around somewhere,” says Grunt. “My battlemaster. I served on her ship. She's talked to C-Sec for me before.”

“Your father is the king of the krogan, and your mother is Commander Shepard,” says Ictor flatly. He feels the headache really starting to set up camp in his skull.

“No, my mother was a tank,” says Grunt--in utter earnest, even though it's utter nonsense. “And Wrex isn't my dad, either. Look, if you don't want to bother Shepard, I was going to meet Garrus over by the turian camp back there. He participated in my Rite of Passage. Is that legal enough?”

“Garrus,” says Ictor. His headache has started digging trenches and erecting fortifications. “By Garrus, you mean Praetor Vakarian?”

“Thingy Vakarian,” says Grunt. “Yeah, him.”

Ictor glances at Gailani, who shrugs and shakes her head.

“Alright,” he says, “I... suppose he’ll have to do, much as I hate to make demands on his time either.”

“Well, my job here is done,” says Gailani, patting Chelsea on the shoulder. The kid smiles radiantly up at her. Funny how she'd been doing her damnedest to resist treatment not five minutes ago. “I'll flag him down on my way back.”

“Thanks,” says Ictor.

“Fucking get me some painkillers,” says the other human. 

Grunt says, “Ah, stop sniveling, you haven't even lost 500cc of blood.”

Ictor’s headache has by now probably planted a flag in his forehead and declared sole sovereignty... but, he thinks, at least the kids are alright.


	2. old age should burn and rave at close of day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:
> 
>  _what if, after the war over, primarch victus and wrex actually found out that they get along- and well? despite their differences, if it weren't for their opposing positions, they would've been good friends._
> 
> _and what if that's just what happens- they end up being good friends? very good friends, even. may even call them best friends. bros, who have each others backs. the primarch helps wrex sort out all the mess with rebuilding the krogan and maybe even get over the loss of shepard?? not that he was suffering greatly but eh, and wrex helps victus get over the loss of his son and wiping out remaining cerberus forces(would they still be a thing even though tim is dead? i hope not.) and whatnot._
> 
> _basically, i'm begging for a fill in which, after the reapers are defeated, wrex and the primarch are bros. gimme platonic fluff, gimme angst and hurt/comfort, give me general badassery- i don't care, potential author anon._
> 
> Grief, hurt/comfort(?), some worldbuilding meta. Wrex, Victus, and Garrus. Possibly shippy if you squint. Ended up setting it during the war rather than after.

Adrien Victus isn't quite ready to deal with conversation following the death of his son, so Urdnot Wrex intruding upon him in the usually-empty starboard observation deck is, to say the least, unwelcome. Still, the promised alliance with the United Krogan Clans is the Hierarchy’s only chance, the only slim flicker of possibility that Adrien’s keen military mind can see for retaking Palaven, for saving his people.

For sparing a thousand thousand other fathers this same grief, and for honoring the uncounted millions more who have already fallen.

“What do you want,” he says dully. His position may demand that he speak to the man, but his exhaustion and grief are such that he can't manage the usual empty politeness demanded of the diplomat he’s expected to be.

Urdnot Wrex tilts his head to regard Adrien with one garnet-dark eye, then moves slantwise past him--carefully just at the edge of his reach, communicating a deliberate lack of hostility--to join him in looking out the window at the roiling expanse of Tuchanka’s curving horizon below them.

“I had a son once,” says Wrex. It isn't what Adrien expects to hear, so he says nothing into the silence that follows the old krogan’s voice. After a moment, Wrex continues, “Troublesome kid. Stupid as a pile of rocks, really. Proud. Hot-headed. Like any young krogan, I guess. Strong, though, and sometimes... sometimes I could see hints that he had a bit of cleverness to him, when he stopped to think for more than a couple seconds at a time. Sometimes I think maybe he could have learned better, made something real out of himself, if he’d lived long enough to buff the yolkshine from his plates.”

“What happened?” says Adrien, when Wrex falls silent.

“Funniest thing,” says Wrex, in stark contrast to the tone of his voice. “My own dad killed him.”

Adrien doesn't know how to reply to that.

“Tried to kill me too,” Wrex says, “but here I am anyway.”

The ruddy eye swivels over to stare piercingly at Adrien again.

“You short-lived races--turians, salarians, humans--you don't live for very long at all, compared to krogan or asari. Every single one of you is constantly struggling against the rising tide of death. By the time you really hit your stride, you only have maybe a few more decades in you before things start to go downhill. Less than that, for salarians. That's the reality every single one of you lives with for your whole lives. The void calls to you, from the cradle onwards. You're always on borrowed time. To a krogan, it's the most alien thing about a turian or a salarian. 

“What it means, though, is that you have to innately understand the value of a single life, in a way us longer-lived races never really do. Sometimes, I think that's why it was you bunch that came up with the genophage in the first place.”

His voice is calm, and lacks any of the accusation or anger that Adrien would expect in such a statement, coming from a krogan. Adrien says, “I'm not sure I follow.”

“Well, when people can live long enough to watch mountains rise and crumble,” says Wrex, “there doesn't get to be much cultural precedent for mourning the deaths of the young. You ever think about how it is that the life stage where asari are most driven to risky behavior is also the first one immediately out of childhood, and what it means? The vast majority of them don't make it past maidenhood, and that's normal for them. Young asari die all the time, and no one ever kicks up much of a fuss about it at all. 

“It’s when a matriarch dies that they really break out the wailing and crying and elaborate funerary rites. You've been around, what, five, six decades? Not long enough to have seen the death of one of the really old matriarchs, anyway. Benezia’s been the only one to fall in the last century or so, and she was a known traitor and had barely passed her first millennium anyway. They didn't do the full rites for her. It's really something else, when they do. You'll get to see it soon enough, I'm sure, if you manage to make it long enough through this war.

“Anyway, It's not that asari don't care when a daughter dies, but... a maiden dying, that's just the loss of a single life. A matriarch, on the other hand--losing one of them represents the loss of a mind whose wisdom and experience may well be older than some civilizations.”

“So, what,” says Adrien, too soul-weary to manage a proper degree of anger, “you're telling me that I'm wrong to mourn my son? That his loss was a minor thing?”

“No,” says Wrex simply. He adds, “You're right to mourn your son. We tired old fossils, we shouldn't have to live to see our children die before us.”

The dullness of Adrien’s pain suddenly sharpens and focuses at those words. He stares blindly down at the blasted barren curve of Tuchanka, struggling to master the uncanny wail threatening to rise from his breast.

_Tarquin. Oh, Tarquin!_

But Wrex is speaking again, saying, “Krogan don't adapt very well, you know. One of the disadvantages of a long natural lifespan. That was what drove my father to betraying us: he clung too hard to the old ways, couldn't change with the times. A grandson was worth next to nothing to an ancient warlord, even when the genophage choked our numbers and forced us to cling over the edge of extinction with every birth that survived to hatching. He didn't understand the implications. Even now, most krogan don't, even though most of us are now too young to even remember what it was like before there was a genophage. We have to value our individuals now, or die as sure as stillborns in the shell.

“That was what I was saying, anyway, before the day I watched my father kill my son.”

They both fall silent for a time, lost in their own thoughts.

Then Wrex says, “I gave up after that. Ran away from home, spent centuries as full of pointless anger as any youngling. I’d had hope, when my son was born. When he was taken from me, I had nothing left, except maybe the promise that one day the void would surely take me as it had taken him, and send me to where he had gone.”

“Yes,” says Adrien. He knows precisely the feeling that Wrex describes. 

“And then I met Shepard.”

Wrex tilts his great head to look at Adrien again.

“I'm not going to try to soften my words for you, turian,” he says. “You won't stop missing your kid anytime soon. Probably ever. Nothing’s ever going to replace him, and he's forever lost to you now, at least until you make that final leap into the void yourself, and find whatever lies at the other end of it. 

“But you're still here, even if he isn't. And that means you still have the power to act. Sometimes, sure, it's worthless to rage at the uncaring sun for things you can't change. But sometimes the universe will buckle and shift around you, if you can yell loud enough and long enough. If all my wasted centuries have given me no other wisdom, then at least Shepard has taught me that much. 

“And when you do go to meet your son again, you’ll want to be able to hold your head up and say that you never gave up fighting, or squandered your time on empty hate and hopelessness when he wasn't there.”

Wrex is silent for a moment before he adds, more quietly, “I don't know if any of us will ever stop paying for the choices of our ancestors. For political reasons, it's probably best that the details of all this are never public knowledge. But...” and he hesitates, before carefully placing a gauntleted hand on Adrien’s shoulder. “I'll make sure my people know that your son gave his life for us. We have long memories. As long as any krogan draws breath in this universe, Tarquin Victus will be remembered, and honored.”

It's not enough. But it's something, and it'll have to be enough for now.

“Thank you,” says Adrien. There's nothing else that he can say. 

There's quiet for a moment. Then comes the soft sound of the door sliding open, and they both half-turn to see Garrus carefully stepping through. 

“Hey, uh...” Garrus clears his throat. “Shepard noticed you were both in here and sent me to check it out, maybe run some interference if, ah. Well. Looks like it wasn't necessary, anyway. Am I, uh, am I interrupting...?”

Wrex removes his hand from Adrien’s shoulder, and Adrien says, “No, Garrus, you're not interrupting anything. Just two old fools, lost in old memories.”

“Ah, right,” says Garrus, shifting on his feet. He's always been a little socially awkward, in Adrien’s experience of the man. “That's... good. Right.”

Wrex makes a contemplative rumble, and then says, “Victus! Tell us about your son. He's a hero to to the krogan now, so we should hold him a proper krogan wake, like they used to for the old battlemasters. And Garrus, since you’re here anyway, you might as well make yourself useful and fetch these old fools some drinks. Something strong, with a good kick. For paying respects.”

“Right,” says Garrus, making to cross the hall. “I'll be right back.”

So Adrien takes his drink in hand, and begins to speak. The pain is still breathtaking, but, as he talks, he finds that it's nearly bearable; and the words come easier and easier as the alcohol and the memories together begin to saturate his senses. 

In time, perhaps the healing will come. For now, he remembers, and as he remembers, he tells his companions of a father’s love, and of the brilliance of a light now forever gone from this world.


	3. Mom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted for Mother's Day 2015.


	4. Situation Normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For prompt:
> 
>  _In the leadup to Shepard and Liara's bonding ceremony, Aethyta nags them into meeting her relatives, who happen to be Liara's as well, especially considering there are no remaining relatives of Benezia._
> 
> _Little do they know that Aethyta's family, including her own sisters, several daughters from several fathers, and the like, is a weird and disparate bunch of asari._
> 
>  
> 
> _Bonuses for_  
>  _++ Liara's vodka aunt._  
>  _++ Some sort of uncouth country type, an asari redneck._  
>  _++ Asari grandma who has bad opinions._  
>  _++ Aria maybe._  
>  _++ Liara's older sisters becoming very protective of her._

When Aethyta messages Shepard regarding Liara’s matriarch aunt, with whom they apparently absolutely _have_ to meet before the impending bonding ceremony, Shepard isn't entirely certain what to expect. Her experience of asari matriarchs is perhaps more extensive than most, but the only commonality she can name between those she's known--Benezia, Sha’ira, Samara, even Aethyta herself--is that they're all somewhat unsettlingly intense people, each in her own unique way. 

“Do you know anything about this?” she asks Liara.

“An aunt?” says Liara. “Not until now.” Her head is pillowed gently on the bare inward curve of Shepard’s lower back, the two of them sprawled together hardly taking up even half of the absurdly large bed. The master bedroom, like most of the T’Soni estate, is still disquietingly echoing and empty, but Liara’s familiar warmth does a lot to dispel any lingering unease. She adds, “Tradition does dictate that we should present you to her before we bond, though, if she's a matriarch.”

“Yeah?” says Shepard. “Threaten me with a shotgun to make sure I'll treat her little girl right, that sort of thing?”

“What?” says Liara. “No, nothing like that. Is… is that how human elders interact with the romantic partners of their children and juniors?”

“Nah, it's mostly an old cultural joke,” says Shepard. 

“Oh good,” says Liara. “I was half wondering if I should brace myself for shotgun-threatening the next time I speak to Admiral Hackett.”

“Hackett isn't my dad,” says Shepard.

“And I'm sure he’s aware of that, intellectually,” says Liara. She has a point; after Anderson’s passing before the Catalyst’s beam, over the course of the excruciating early months of Shepard’s recovery from the same, Hackett seemed to have picked up the _superior officer distressingly over-invested in Shepard’s personal life_ torch without missing a beat. 

After a companionable silence, Liara says, “That aunt. Did Aethyta give a name?”

“Nope. Just said she'll be arriving in a couple days, and be prepared to meet up and chat. No other details as far as I could tell, what with that incomprehensible way she has with extranet mail.”

“Hmm.” Liara draws an idle hand up and down Shepard’s spine. It feels nice. “I could probably find out anyway, if you like.”

Shepard hesitates only a moment.

“Nah,” she says. “Personal matters, right? No shady business necessary. We can find out when we meet her, like normal people.”

“Normal,” Liara murmurs. “Yes. I think I'm starting to like that.”

\--

Two and a half days later, Shepard is _really_ wishing they'd indulged in just a _little_ bit of shady business, personal or no. Just this once. For old times’ sake.

The four of them are gathered around a fancy breakfast table, itself probably older than Shepard’s great great grandmother, on the top-floor balcony of the north tower. The view of the Aramali Mountains from here is breathtaking, especially when it is, as now, lit golden-pink by the early morning sun; however, Shepard finds that she's having considerable trouble appreciating it at the moment. 

Sitting across from her, incongruously demure, is Aria T’Loak. 

“Right, so,” Aethyta is saying, “Let's skip the fancy language this time. Sis, this is Shepard. And also Liara, since you probably haven't seen her since she was a baby. Liara, Shepard, this is--what do you even go by these days? I can't keep track anymore.”

“Aria T’Loak,” says Aria. She is smiling, showing all her teeth. 

“We’ve met,” says Shepard, drily.

“That's you, really?” says Aethyta. “I’ve heard the name, but I had no idea it was you. Goddess, we really need to keep in touch better.”

“Yes, it's so easy to lose track of time, isn't it?” says Aria. “But family is still family, no matter how long it's been.”

“I'm surprised you requested a meeting,” says Liara, in the deliberately bland tone she tends to adopt when she's trying to control her reactions. “It’s your right, of course, but you've certainly met Shepard before.”

Aria laughs, the sound not entirely unlike that of a cat watching a songbird. “Oh, but never in this context. I had to, really. It promises to be quite interesting.”

“Interesting,” echoes Shepard. “Right. I didn't know you were a matriarch.”

Aria’s grin grows wider.

“Of course,” she says, “you've never met with me in this context either. Rest assured, Shepard, we can walk you through it. Now, this is the part where I ask you if you and my junior clanmate--”

Liara says, “If you're my father’s sister, then we’re technically not even in the same clan--”

“--are sufficiently provided for,” Aria continues, talking over Liara’s interruption, “or if you need any guidance or resources that I can offer--”

“I think we’re fine, thanks--” says Shepard. 

“... or,” Aria plows on, “if you plan on having children anytime soon.”

Liara and Shepard glance at each other. Liara looks exactly as confused as Shepard feels. 

“I'm still a maiden,” Liara says carefully. “I'm not even capable of having children yet.”

“Oh, but there was just a war,” says Aria. “In which, I might add, you were personally quite a major player, much as you preferred to let your, hmm, Shepard take the spotlight, while you yourself scuttled about in the _shadows_. It’s unwise not to take such things into account. Don't you agree?”

Shepard and Liara share another uncertain look.

“So, what,” says Shepard, “you're saying that means we should settle down and adopt?”

Aria opens her mouth, but Aethyta beats her to the punch, saying, “Nah, she means sometimes that kind of planet-shaking galaxy-ending shit screws with biology a bit, makes the life stage transitions happen ahead of or behind schedule.”

“I… didn't know that,” says Liara, sounding unsettled. Under the table, Shepard places a reassuring hand on her knee. 

Aethyta adds, “They always go and take it outta the standard sex ed curriculum a couple centuries after every major conflict, too, usually just in time for the next one to roll through and catch a new batch of maidens by surprise. And then we all end up with a shit-ton of accidental post-war babies.”

“Why didn't you mention it before?” says Liara.

“Well, I thought surely Benezia must have told you about it at some point,” says Aethyta. “See, this is why we hold these little meetings though, so stuff like this gets caught before it causes problems.”

“I don't think I'm transitioning early, in any case,” says Liara. 

Aria, however, clears her throat and looks significantly at Liara’s chest before meeting her eyes. “Really, you're quite sure?” she says, with another feline smile. 

Liara makes an affronted face, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly a couple times.

Shepard says, “No, we are not _currently_ planning on having kids. Now that we’re aware it might be an option, we can discuss it later. In _private_.”

Aethyta guffaws, and Aria says, “You know, Shepard, traditionally, this is considered to be in private.”

“Really?” says Shepard flatly. “That's nice.”

“Really, Shepard,” says Aria, mimicking her pitch and intonation. In her own usual voice, she adds, “Your privacy is sacrosanct and nothing said here will be repeated elsewhere--not by myself nor by Aethyta. Honestly, you have the combined wisdom--” Aethyta’s laughter, having nearly subsided, picks up again at this-- “the combined wisdom of two matriarchs, with our many collective centuries of experience, at your immediate disposal. Surely you should make good use of it, while we’re all here anyway?”

“And that's the official reason we’re doing this?” says Shepard.

“Oh yes,” says Aria. “Very officially.”

“Because it occurs to me,” says Shepard, “that if I were a thousand years old, then _culturally-mandated opportunity to embarrass prospective in-laws_ would be the sort of thing I'd do for--” she glances at Aethyta, who is still chuckling-- “well, you know. Shits and giggles.”

“Oh, of a certainty,” says Aria, “that too. Really, you have no idea. One of my granddaughters chose to bond with Tevos’s niece just over a century ago. It was probably the most fun I've ever had with all my clothes on.”

“Hey, why wasn't I invited to that one?” says Aethyta. “I just know Tevos is the sort who'd take it way too seriously.”

“As I recall,” says Aria serenely, “you were rather preoccupied at the time with conceiving _this_ one.”

Liara groans and covers her face with both hands as Aethyta starts laughing again. 

“Anyway,” says Aria, “welcome to the family, Shepard. Feel free to come to either of us with any lingering questions you may have about the arcane details of asari culture or biology. And be sure to let me know if you change your mind and need a babysitter--I'm sure Bray or Grizz would be _delighted_ to help.”


	5. In the Spirit of Interspecies Understanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashley and Garrus discuss xenoanatomy.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm just going to upload minicomics and ficlets under 1k words to this work from now on, I'm thinking the written stuff in this fic already would have been long enough to stand alone. Not sure whether I should try to relocate them or not, though. Anyone have advice?


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